IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1*5 


us 


IIIM  illM 
IIIIM  i^ 

m  112.0 


1.8 


1.25      1.4      1.6 

1 ( = 

^ 

6"     

► 

^■^ 


<^ 


0% 


/}. 


"-^ 


^M 


c?^ 


^. 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


£: 


4 


<> 


^9) 


V 


^>  .  ''. 


^> 


6^ 


>^% 


■%' 


<h 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


ri? 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 

1980 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The 
toti 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


r~7]    Coloured  covers/ 

1^  I    Couverture  de  couleur 

□    Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommag^e 


D 


D 
D 
D 


D 


D 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pellicul6e 


□    Cover  title  missing/ 
Le 


titre  de  couverture  manque 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  inl<  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


□    Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 


Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  ia  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
rnais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  filmdes. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquds  ci-dessous. 


n 

D 
D 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagde.^ 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pellicul^es 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachetdes  ou  piqu^es 


n 


The 
posi 
oft 
film 


Ori{ 
beg 
the 
sior 
oth( 
first 
sior 
oril 


□    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6tach6es 

[~7|    Showthrough/ 
LlJ    Transparence 

□    Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Quality  in^gale  de  I'impression 

□    Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


The 
sha 
TIN 
whi 

Mai 
diff 
ent 
beg 
righ 
req 
me' 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  filmdes  d  nouveau  de  fa9on  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


□ 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires: 


This  'tem  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  rctio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu^  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


v 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Izaak  Walton  Killam  Memorial  Library 
Dalhousie  University 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6nArosit6  de: 

Izaak  Walton  Killarii  Memorial  Library 
Dalhousie  University 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  —►(meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginnii^g  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6X6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimie  sont  filmds  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  emp^'einte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  fiimds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  solvents  apparattra  sur  ia 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  §tre 
fi[m6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup^rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  6  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

1 


ST.  ASPENQUID 


OF 


MT.  AGAMENTICUS. 


A.V  INDIAN  IDYL 


BY 

JOHN    ALBEE. 


i'ORTS  MOUTH: 

I'UBLISHEIJ  BY  IJAVIS  W.  BREWSTEK, 


1S79. 


J 


Copyrig-hted :  John  Albee. 
'879- 


I 


I 


i 


J 


^pOR  is  the  land  that  hath  no  legend  lore, 
jl^  No  myths,  no  muse  nor  music  of  its  own. 
Descending  through  innumerable  years, 
Wherein  is  stored  the  life  of  all  the  past : 
As  on  some  ancient  shrine  the  pilgrims'  gifts. 
In  rich  array  each  other  overhang ; 
And  some  do  sparkle  forth  a  recent  fome. 
Some  in  dust  and  venerated  age  are  masked. 
What  has  the  savage  left  in  this  new  world 
For  him  who  seeks  a  self-sustaining  plinth 
Whereon  to  rear  his  modern  masonry  } 
He  had  few  foshions  that  subserve  our  art : 
And  all  have  failed  that,  tempted,  strung  his  shells. 
And  thought  it  coinage  of  Apollo's  mint. 
In  his  rude  birchen  cabin  or  canoe. 
In  one  no  hook  for  graceful  ornament. 

Nor  could  the  other  breast  the  seas  we  sail. 
All  eye,  all  ear,  the  nature  which  he  faced 
He  named  with  names  that  still  the  poet  loves. 
Though  overscrawled  with  wild  ambition's  blare. 
Proud,  unabashed,  he  looked  on  nature's  forms. 


\ 


i 


And  paid  the  only  compliment  he  knew  ; 
Then  soon  retreating  left  the  vajrue  snrmise 
If  he  knew  aught  of  symbol  or  of  sign, 
With  which  we  tag  our  modern  elegies, 
Ikholding  but  ourselves  in  all  we  see. 
Vaunting  the  very  flowers  do  give  us  tlioughts 
And  stars  are  but  the  ensigns  of  our  sr)uls. 
The  savage  brought  to  all  an  eye,  an  ear, 
And  left  behind  his  mimic,  fancied  name, 
But  not  the  deep  imagined,  reflex  song, 
The  earth  revested  by  the  plastic  mind. 
But  when  he  felt  the  prick  of  novel  pain. 
Which  the  Caucasian  hand  flrst  always  gives, 
When  in  new  lands  its  banner  is  uplift. 
A  pathos  thrilled  from  heart  to  unused  brain  : 
And  as  the  youthful  poet's  trial-song, 
When  every  new-born  passion  brings  a  pang, 
Most  often  is  a  plaint,  so  his  was  sad 
And  eloquent. 

In  that  same  monotone, 
An  echoed,  Ossianic  melancholv. 
We  feign  for  him  his  speech  ;  so  we  ugree 
The  Indian  archetype  shall  front  the  ]xige. 

I  follow  on  the  worn  and  customary  way. 
When  deep  the  snow  and  few  the  passing  tracks, 
We  try  to  follow  those  have  gone  before : 
Some  strides  too  long  for  us  and  some  too  short. 


X 


^. 


We  rtouiuler  olV  to  make  a 


new,  l)Ut  soon 


Return  and  gladly  to  the  beaten  way 


1( 


)nie  isle. 


11  uieascd  mc  ni  tnis  ancient,  lonesoi 

One  wintrv  day.  when  all  the  fields  were  white, 

Watchin-.'  toward  night,  thro'  fr()sting  window-panes, 

The  driven  clouds  pass  Aganienticus, 

And  o'er  the  sea  dissolve  and  lose  themselves. 

To  see  arise  upon  the  Mountain's  top 

Saiut  Aspenquid  ;  no  clearer  sailors  saw. 

Far  oir,  Athene  crown  th'  Acropolis, 

Not  all  distinct,  vet  still  they  knew  'twas  she. 

r.ong  the  Saint  had  softly  mingl'd  in  my  thoughts, 

The^'dim.  fast  fading  shadow  of  a  name  ; 

And  now  I  sat  to  draw  his  lineaments, 

Ere  passed  to  nothingness  and  unbelief. 

And  while  I  bent  to  draw  his  antique  form. 

It  chanced  there  came  a  sudden  light,  a  voice. 

And  for  a  moment  flashed  the  hero's  soul ; 

I.  listening  intent,  wrought  no  more  that  day  : 

Taught  by  the  vision  that  we  needs  must  know 

The'lnner  ere  we  mould  the  outward  form. 


New  Castle. 
October,  1879. 


> 


il 


ST,  ASPENQUID. 


.♦♦-• 


'A 


HE  Indian  hero,  sorcerer  and  saint, 
Known  in  the  land  as  Passaconoway, 
And  after  called  the  good  Saint  Aspenquid, 
Returning,  travel  worn  and  spent  with  age 
From  vain  attempt  to  reconcile  his  race 
With  ours,  sent  messengers  throughout  the  East 
To  summon  all  the  blood-bound  tribes  to  him  ; 
For  that  upon  the  ancient  meeting-place, 
The  sacred  mountain  Agamenticus, 
When  next  the  moon  should  show  a  new  bent  bow. 
He  there  would  celebrate  his  funeral  feast 
With  sacrifices  due  and  farewell  talk. 
The  dusky  people  heard  and  they  obeyed  ; 
For  known  was  Aspenquid  in  all  the  camps  ; 
Known  was  his  name  where  unknown  was  his  face  : 
His  conjuries,  his  valor  and  his  wit 
The  trackless  forests  traversed  many  a  year, 
And  made  his  name  a  word  of  omen  there. 
Then  gathered  they  from  all  the  hither  land 
Of  wide  St.  Lawrence  and  the  northern  lakes. 
The  warriors  of  the  great  Algonkin  race  : 


lO 


[^ 

fi 


Whose  friendship  French  and  English  wrangled  for  : 

Whose  souis  the  Jesuit  and  Puritan 

Disputed  long  what  pinfold  heaven  should  keep  : 

For  whom  the  pious  Rale  laid  down  his  life  ; 

For  whom  the  Bible  turned  in  Indlanese 

Its  ancient  threat  or  new  beatitude  : 

Turned  by  Apostle  Elliot's  patient  hand 

In  words  six-finger'd,  unarticulate. 

Together  strung  like  l^eads  upon  a  string. 

And  every  page  a  picture,  not  a  script. 

And  now  the  moon  began  to  show  her  light 

A  (quarter  up  the  amber,  western  sky, 

Close  companied  by  one  small  star  that  shone 

Like  point  of  diamond-headed  arrow,  drawn 

Between  the  corners  of  her  silver  bow. 

The  mountain  Agamenticus  loomed  on 

The  twilight  heavens  in  silent  majesty, 

A  natural  throne  and  sepulchre  for  him 

Who  ruled  a  natural  sovereign  there. 

No  arts  of  man  it  showed,  no  monuments 

Nor  fane,  nor  the  long  roll  of  famous  deeds. 

But  all  was  rude  magnificence  and  strength  ! 

Far  to  the  North  the  ancient  forests  stretched. 

Whose  thick-set  tops  the  winds  might  blow  upon 

But  could  not  shake  their  immemorial  roots. 

Eastward  the  ocean  washed  the  mountain's  feet. 

And  like  the  land,  as  vet  a  virgin  waste. 


ir 


d  fhi- : 


It  beat  against  the  white  embattl'd  cHlVs, 

Or  swept  a  plumed  wave  across  the  sands, 

Unsailed  for  traffick  and  untouched  by  thought. 

So  fresh  was  nature  then  ;  for  the  wild  tribes, 

Though  dwelling  here  beyond  the  date  of  time, 

Let  undisturbed  the  elements  they  found 

Crossed  and  recrossed  the  land  and  left  no  mark. 

But  void  as  is  the  sky  when  stars  have  passed. 

So  empty  was  this  world  of  man's  bright  course. 

Of  nature's  self  they  were  too  near  a  part 

To  think  how  they  could  warp  her  to  their  best : 

And  kindly  she  supplied  their  simple  wants 

Ungraced  by  arts  perplexing,  manifold. 

That  make  us  dead  to  what  we  touch  or  see 

So  many  steps  they  are  from  their  first  form, 

So  dwarfed  is  man  by  his  own  handiwork. 

Not  so  the  Indian's  life  ;  meagre  it  was, 

Unlit  by  customs  of  the  citied  world  ; 

Ruled  by  unwritten  laws,  though  fixed  and  kept. 

But  he  himself  was  more  than  all,  and  free 

From  malady  for  things  beyond  his  reach. 

vSo  the  tall  warriors  looked  ;  round  their  camp  fires 

Sitting  or  standing,  now  in  light  or  shade. 

As  with  the  night  winds  rose  or  sank  the  flames. 

And  all  about  the  mountain's  woody  slopes 

A  veil  of  moonlit,  opal  mist  crept  up, 

Festooned  across  the  pine  tree  pinnacles, 

And  islanding  the  band  above  the  earth. 


J 


ill 


4 


11 

With  only  iiijrht  and  stars  for  wit!iesses. 

They  spoke  but  little,  hut  the  silence  spoke  ; 

Men  of  few  words  and  every  word  a  thin<r : 

Impassive,  taciturn,  yet  seeing  all. 

And  every  sense  infallible  by  use 

Of  life  lived  in  the  sunshine  or  the  dark. 

And  conversant  alone  with  nature's  works. 

To  hunt  the  fox  their  step  was  taught  to  hn 

E'en  lighter  footed  than  the  fox  himself; 

The  hawk's  sharp  eye  was  not  so  sharp  as  theirs  : 

More  wary  they  than  is  the  partridge  bird 

When  first  she  leads  her  little  brood  abroad. 

They  spoke  brief  words  of  what  the  morrow  morn 

Would  see.  the  feast,  the  dance,  the  farewell  talk 

Of  Aspenquid.  and  laid  them  down  to  rest. 

But  Aspenquid  in  thought  all  night  awake 
Was  meditating  how  to  frame  right  words. 

That  should  forever  fix  themsches  within 

The  breasts  of  all  the  chieftains  hearing  him 

And  be  to  them  a  never  silent  voice  : 

A  secret  totem  binding  them  to  him 

When  the  impending  day  of  gloom  should  come. 

Sore  troubled  was  his  heart  to  find  few  ^vords, 

As  his  laconic  kinsman  liked  to  hear. 

But  piercing,  lofty,  going  to  the  mark 

Like  shrilling  arrows  drawn  to  the  very  head. 

And  now  in  softer  mood  the  past  came  up. 


i?, 


-s  ; 


mi 


Filled  with  the  images  of  other  days, 

Then  faded  as  an  old  man's  past  will  ftule. 

But  wlien  the  life  is  lived,  the  present  naught. 

The  spirit  leaps  to  that  which  is  to  he, 
\nd  through  a  loophole  in  a  shadowed  room 
Looks  out  on  light,  itself  in  darkness  hid. 
So  came  the  future  untc  Aspenqnid. 
And  sharp  and  dolorous  the  vision  was. 
But  crowding  thoughts  must  pass  and  spend  themselves  : 
And  as  night  waned  and  morning's  heralds  came. 
The  shadows  fled  his  soul,  and  he  was  calm. 
He  heard  the  voice  that  was  to  be  his  own 
Peal  down  its  accents  in  the  waking  sky  : 
And  one  by  one  he  saw  the  stars  fade  out ; 
But  they  would  rise  again,  but  he  no  more ! 

The  feast  was  ended  :  bird  and  beast  were  slain, 
(Three  thousand,  so  the  ancient  annals  say.) 
The  dance  was  danced  and  every  rite  performed  ; 
And  gathered  round  the  summit  of  the  mount 
The  statch-.  silent  sachems  stood  intent 
On  Aspenqnid  ;  he  over  all  was  tall 
And  straight  as  ash  though  ripe  with  ninety  n  ears. 
He  rose  majestic  on  the  sovereign  top 
Of  his  own  land,  and  in  that  solemn  hour 
He  seemed  to  tower  above  his  wonted  height. 
As  towers  in  midmost  air  the  stricken  bird. 
His  locks  were  thin  but  raven  black  and  long : 


H 


U 


^^ 


Nor  yet  his  eyes  had  lost  their  splendid  dark, 
But  glowed  deep  set  beneath  a  low,  broad  brow. 
Unpinched  by  age  his  face  was  firm,  and  bronzed 
Like  leaves  that  hang  all  winter  on  the  oak. 
No  more  he  wore  the  bird's  gay  colored  plumes, 
The  wampum  belt  of  beads  and  sinuous  shells, 
But  soberer  garb  as  well  beseemed  his  years. 
Nor  had  he  on  the  weapons  that  of  yore 
Delighted  his  victorious,  haughty  youth. 
The  pride  of  all  his  friends  and  dread  of  foes. 
A  start'  he  held  on  which  he  som-  times  leaned, 
To  fix  on  them  the  image  of  his  age — 
Which  else  his  bearing  would  have  made  forp-ot — 
And  give  his  words  a  weightier  memorv. 
Then  to  the  waiting  hund  he  thus  began  : 

Warriors  and  braves  come  nearer  to  vour  chief! 

My  eyes  that  once  could  brook  the  mid-da}-  sun. 

And  see  the  eagle  ere  myself  was  seen. 

Are  dimmed  with  age  ;  and  but  a  pace  beyond 

A  misty  light  seems  settled  over  all. 

Come  nearer  braves,  that  I  may  feast  my  eyes 

On  your  young  limbs,  on  what  myself  once  was ! 

Alas !  but  I  remember  what  I  was. 

But  now  with  years  and  toils  am  T  outworn, 

And  that  Great  Spirit  whom  we  call  our  own 

No  longer  smiles  as  once  upon  my  life. 

But  summons  me  away  from  it  and  you, 


J 


.i^V 


>vv. 


n 


Seals  up  the  past  and  stays  the  onward  path. 

To  this  our  old  ancestral  council  seat, 

The  mountain  Agamenticus,  renowned 

Of  old  for  feasts,  for  truce  or  onset  sharp, 

I  call  \'ou  once  a«jain  to  hear  my  words. 

You  know  how  well  and  oft  in  former  days, 

My  ready  deeds  outdid  reluctant  speech  ; 

But  now  an  old  man  leans  against  the  stati' 

Whicli  once  he  bravely  brandished  on  his  foe, 

And  lets  his  tongue  outrun  his  shrunken  arm.    • 

Yet  I  so  near  the  end  of  all  my  years 

See  lights  which  my  too  active  life  obscured. 

With  eye  intent  upon  the  ground,  I  kept 

The  trail  through  forests  deep,  by  day,  by  night, 

For  vears.  one  narrow  line  and  one  alone. 

But,  lo  !   I  near  its  end,  and  see  beyond, 

A  wider  world  and  things  not  so  distinct. 

Though  worth  you  turn  your  eyes  with  me  that  way 

And  would  that  I  could  tell  you  all  the  past. 

Of  all  that  happened  in  your  fathers'  days. 

Not  yours,  that  so  you  might  be  wise  and  great 

Without  the  cost  of  being  first  unwise. 

But  never  man  could  take  his  fathers'  store 

Of  wisdom,  building  higher  for  the  gift. 

He  digs  his  field  anew  and  plants  and  reaps 

The  selfsame  harvest  which  it  ever  bore. 

Much  T  could  tell,  the  path  that  I  have  come, 

All  I  have  seen  that  vou  have  only  heard  : 


i6 


■|  ilt 


All  that  1  fear  for  vou  who  follow  on. 

Or  hope  for  who  shall  fill  some  future  age. 

Whatever  makes  me  wise  1  would  impart 

And  leave,  a  legacy  to  all  my  race. 

Howbeit  men,  grown  old  and  seeming  sage, 

Must  tell  their  tale  and  mingle  words  of  ware. 

To  ease  their  hearts,  and  to  live  o'er  again 

The  days  when  action  left  no  room  for  words. 

So  I  will  tell  you  of  my  former  life. 

Wherein,  if  wise,  you  read  my  last  advice. 

And  do  not  mourn  because  it  is  the  last. 

And  being  last  must  show  some  sign  of  grief. 

The  heart  must  then  its  deeper  wounds  unbare 

When  sets  the  sun  that  brought  its  hopes  and  fears 

And  in  the  twilight  of  the  soul  it  seems 

i'o  see  a  phantom  image  of  itself, 

And  speaks  as  to  a  long  departed  friend. 

But  were  he  here,  that  ancient,  happy  chief. 

Whose  counsel  all  his  children  held  the  best. 

Obeyed,  whatever  private  mind  they  kept. 

Then  silent  reverence  would  fill  my  soul. 

O  what  am  1  that  1  shoidd  speak  to  you  ! 

I,  who  being  next  of  kin.,  nearest  heard 

That  voice,  and  never  learned  to  hear  my  own. 

And  had  no  need  to  learn.      But  he  is  gone 

Whose  tongue  was  fiery  now  as  noontide  suns. 

Or  soft  as  moonlight  on  the  waveless  sea. 

It  threw  its  warmth  and  lisfht  o'er  vou  and  all : 


17 


But  me,  who  needed  most,  the  most  of  all, 

As  light  shows  lightest  on  the  darkest  place. 

Alas  !  you  cannot  hear  his  voice  in  me  ; 

I  hear  it  only  when  my  own  is  still. 

Something  I  speak  for  your  behoof  and  guide. 

Something  for  my  own  self;  to  ease  my  life. 

And  to  lay  oif  its  pains  before  I  go. 

Much  rather  would  I  die  in  some  fierce  tight, 

And  join,  without  a  thought  or  grief,  mine  own. 

Than  to  wear  out  the  years  with  wasting  pulse. 

Ebbing  away  so  slowly  drop  by  drop, 

I  know  not  whether  I  l:)e  dead  or  live. 

And  I  have  lived  too  long  for  my  best  weal ; 

For  more  and  more  the  white  men  crowd  the  land  : 

And  though  I  battled  them  with  all  my  braves, 

And  stirred  my  neighbor  sachems  t(<  the  war, 

And  fought  them  step  by  step,  in  hopes  to  stay 

Their  coming,  or  if  not,  to  die  in  light. 

Before  they  gained  these  streams  and  well  stocked  woods, 

And  I  should  hang  my  head  in  vanquished  shame — 

In  vain  !  't  was  all  in  vain  !  the  shame  has  come 

And  life  has  been  too  long  for  my  best  weal. 

And  though,  when  my  rude  craft  of  tomahawk 

And  scalp,  long  bow  and  flinty  arrow  head. 

All  wiles  that  fox  and  hawk  had  taught  to  me. 

Availed  me  not,  and  more  and  more  the  land 

Was  filled  with  these  pale  children  of  the  sun, 

While  woods  grew  thin  along  the  river  banks, 


i8 


While  deer  and  caribou  still  backward  skulked — 

Wbv  read  we  not.  alas!  our  fate  in  theirs? — 

And  all  the  chrystal  streams  were  fouled  and  shrunk. 

Or  trained  to  put  their  shoulder  to  a  wheel. 

Hoardings  our  sweet  waters  into  stag-nant  pools. 

And  mills  and  hip^h-peaked  ships  plae^ued  all  their  course. 

Fri<Tjhtin<T  the  bass  and  flouncinjy  salmon  ofV 

Bevond  the  reach  of  lis^ht  canoe  and  spear — 

Whv  read  we  not,  alas  !  our  fate  in  theirs.'' — 

When  these  my  fathers'  arms  bestead  me  not. 

To  keep  mine  own  and  hurl  th'  invader  back. 

T  laid  them  off;  and  hidin<^  me  away 

From  all  mv  tribe  upon  the  mountain's  side. 

When  the  May  moon  was  in  her  darkest  cave. 

T  slathered  all  the  charms  once  taught  to  me 

By  our  Abnakian  wizards  in  my  youth  ; 

All  herbs  and  twigs  of  mightiest  power. 

The  speckled  alder  and  the  black  ash  leaves, 

The  moose-wood's  sprout,  straight,  lithe  and  livid  green  ; 

Flowers  which  grow  in  deepest  forest  trails, 

With  deadly  looking  bloom  and  poison  leaves. 

Streaked  like  the  insidious  adder's  back  ; 

The  enchanter's  nightshade  with  hooked  hairs, 

The  cornel  red  and  baleful  orchis  plant ; 

These  in  an  osier  basket  then  I  placed, 

And  over  them  the  cod's  two  fatal  bones. 

The  precious  stone  that  saves  the  moose's  heart. 

The  snake's  shed  skin,  the  eve  of  dismal  owl, 


i 


ife: 


^-^SKRK 


'9 


The  brown  wolf's  tooth  and  scalp  of  white  man's  child. 

Thus  day  by  day,  at  earliest  break  of  morn, 

I  left  my  hiding-place  and  climbed  high  up 

The  top  of  Agamenticus ;  the  sea 

And  land  lay  all  before  me  ;  I  could  mark 

The  straight,  blue  lines  of  smoke  unbroken  climb 

Above  the  camping  grounds  of  my  brave  kin, 

And  far  beyond,  but  still  too  near !  the  homes 

And  sails  of  all  the  hated  robber  race. 

Then  spreading  out  my  magic  heap  of  charms 

Upon  the  mountain's  highest,  tabled  ledge, 

i  wove  my  arms  toward  heaven  over  them, 

if  so  be  1  might  touch  the  Spirit's  hand 

And  join  His  curse  to  mine  against  my  foe. 

Long  with  sorceries  and  all  passions  tierce 

I  strove  to  bind  His  will  and  hate  with  mine  ; 

Then  I  laid  the  enchantments  one  by  one 

iogether  in  an  ordered  pile,  and  blew 

A  spark  to  tlame,  and  nursing  slow  the  fire 

That  nothing  might  escape — for  every  spark 

So  lost  would  lose  me  some  white,  faithless  face — 

I  cast  the  ashes  toward  my  enemies; 

And  after  them  an  arrow  1  let  fly, 

Hate-feathered  and  tipped  with  my  own  arm's  blood. 

But  all  in  vain !  for  on  and  on  they  come, 

The  red  man  wanes  and  wanes  and  loses  all 

And  I  have  lived  too  long  to  see  this  shame. 


30 


Once  more  did  I  essay  to  save  my  race. 

I  put  off  quiver,  corslet  and  brit^ht  plume, 

Hun^  up  my  belt  and  cloak  of  beaver  skins, 

And  clothed  me  like  the  trading^  Enjiflishman  ; 

Yea  more — for  over  all  the  priestly  gown 

I  threw  ;  and  with  no  comrade  save  my  dog, 

(That  one  whom  I  "Exhorter"  named  because 

He  seized  the  heels  of  those  wlio  spurned  my  words,) 

And  all  my  goods  a  blanket  and  a  stafl', 

I  left  my  warriors  chieftainless  and  sad, 

To  vStrange  lands  set  my  face  and  other  ways. 

I  wandered  westward,  preaching  that  new  word 

Which  I  liad  lieard  when  first  tlie  white  man  came. 

And  asked  of  us,  not  hunting-grounds,  but  souls  ! 

Something  he  said  of  peace,  good-will  to  men  ; 

Whetlier  he  meant  this  word  not  for  himself 

But  only  us,  thereby  to  thrust  a  wedge 

Between  our  rights  and  his  too  treacherous  greed, 

I  know  not ;  but  this  thing  to  put  to  proof 

I  preached  the  white  men's  doctrines  to  themselves 

As  they  to  us ;  did  they  not  mean  it  so  ? 

And  what  was  good  for  us  as  well  for  them  f 

For  once  asked  I  Elliot  of  his  faith. 

Revolving  if  some  mischief  new  were  hid 

To  work  more  ill  on  me  and  on  my  race. 

But  when  I  heard  the  precepts,  peaceful,  pure. 

First  preach'd  to  them  who  for  the  first  time  hear. 

While  faith  still  leads,  not  flatters  men's  desires. 


91 


A  thought  stole  in  my  heart  and  harbor' cl  there 

How  this  mij^ht  be  a  spell  to  lay  the  strife 

That  my  presaging  soul  felt  yet  to  come. 

Yet  1.  not  used  to  thinking  but  to  act, 

Put  dou))t  and  argument  always  aside  ; 

And  I  spoke  words  of  peace,  and  chiefly  these : 

That  they  should  love  their  neighbor  as  themselves ; 

And  all  the  more  if  he  were  poor  and  mean, 

A  savage,  as  they  said,  with  no  true  God  ; 

Nor  covet  lands  their  king  nor  fathers  owned ; 

But  we  would  give  them  of  our  own  enough, 

And  they  should  live  with  us  in  trust  and  love, 

Teaching  to  us  the  arts  of  peace  they  praised. 

And  to  the  warriors  of  my  haughty  race 

I  said,  give  up  a  portion  of  each  thing, 

That  we  may  be  at  rest  and  cease  to  fear ; 

Give  to  the  stranger  equal  parts  of  field, 

Of  lake,  of  wood,  and  trust  and  learn  of  him 

How  in  all  ways  to  be  his  peer  and  friend ; 

Thus  only  shall  we  save  ourselves  and  live, 

Grow  strong  together  and  possess  the  land. 

So  traversed  I  the  homes  of  new  come  hordes. 
And  sixty  tribes,  alien,  yet  like  to  mine, 
Guided  by  western  stars,  until  the  sea 
Grew  distant  and  a  mighty  mountain  wall 
Rose  up  between  me  and  some  other  world. 
Hindered  by  this,  back  turned  I  on  my  trail. 


4. ... .■ ^_ , 


22 


ill 


Oft  losing.  In  those  lands,  untracked,  unknown  ; 

And  then  I  came  where  I  had  been  before, 

Where  I  had  spoke  the  words  my  heart  found  out. 

And  as  I  came  more  near  my  ancient  seat, 

Lo !  in  all  mouths  1  found  myself  a  saint, 

The  good  Saint  Aspenquid  they  called  ;  for  me 

Long  passed  beyond  report  of  scout  or  fame 

They  counted  dead  ;   but  my  rememl)ered  words 

Were  yet  alive,  and  people  called  me  saint ; 

Half  scorn,  half  love  !  for  they  remembered  not 

To  do  the  thing  I  taught,  but  only  words  I 

And  evermore  the  deadly  feud  grows  wide. 

My  race  decays  and  1  have  lived  too  long. 

My  limbs  with  ninety  weary  winters'  strife 

Are  spent,  my  fathers  call  me  unto  them  ; 

I  go  to  comfort  their  impatient  shades 

And  respite  find  for  all  my  own  mischance. 

And  here  once  more  on  Agamenticus, 

My  old  ancestral  powwow's  sacred  seat. 

That  saw  the  waters  burn  and  trees  to  dance, 

And  winter's  withered  leaves  grow  green  again, 

And  in  dead  serpents'  skin  the  living  coil, 

While  they  themselves  would  change  themselves  to  flame 

And  where  not  less  did  I  myself  conjure 

The  mighty  magic  of  my  fathers'  rites 

Against  my  foe,  yet  all  without  effect — 

The  spirits  also  flee  where  white  men  come — 

I  turn  to  join  my  kindred  sagamores 


n 


And  fly  before  the  doom  I  could  not  change. 
Albeit  all  ways  known  to  me  I  sought 
To  hinder  English  settlements  and  spoil ; 
The  ambuscade,  the  open  fight,  old  wiles, 
The  cunnins:  that  from  nature  we  have  learnt. 
Half  brother  as  we  are  to  fox  and  crow. 
Then  arts  of  sorcery,  wherein  before 
The  shores  were  ravened  so  by  gold-mad  men, 
I  had  great  skill  and  gained  me  fame  at  home. 
And  far  to  east  and  west  my  name  was  known. 
Last  hope  of  all,  the  white  man's  boasted  arms. 
Love,  honor,  faith  I  turned  against  himself; 
Rut  all  in  vain,  and  I  have  lived  too  long. 
Now  take  my  farewell  word  and  heed  it  well ; 

Children  of  day,  are  these  the  pale-faced  men  ; 
Children  of  night,  are  we  the  red  man's  tribes. 
The  heavens  are  bright  on  them  and  they  will  grow 
Like  fields  of  maize  in  the  long  summer  days. 
Yet  you  will  fade  before  their  orbing  race, 
As  when  the  hunters'  roundest,  riding  moon 
Bathes  wood  and  field  in  lustrous,  frosty  light. 
Then  leaves  their  greenness  all  a  blackened  wreck. 
They  have  a  spirit  father  strange  to  us. 
Who.  prophets  say,  this  land  to  them  decreed, 
And  you  will  fail ;  yet  grieve  not.  counsel  hear  ; 
Light  not  the  fires  of  vengeance  in  your  hearts 
For  sure  the  flame  will  turn  against  yourselves, 


.!I5  .J  '• 


mis^ 


24 


And  you  will  perish  utterly  from  earth. 

Nor  yet  submit  too  meekly,  but  maintain 

The  valorous  name  once  ours  in  happy  days. 

Be  prudent,  wise  and  always  slow  to  strike ; 

Fall  back,  seek  other  shores  and  hunting  grounds- 

I  cannot  bear  you  perish  utterly  ! 

Though  looking  through  the  melancholy  years 

I  see  the  end,  but  turn  my  face  away. 

So  heavy  are  my  eyes  with  unshed  tears ; 

And  yours  too  I  would  turn,  warriors  and  braves ! 

And  mind  not  my  prophetic  vision  much — 

Th'  unhappy  gift  of  him  who  lives  too  long — 

But  mind  the  counsel  many  years  have  taught, 

The  last  I  give — remember  it  and  live  ! 


s 


